What Are The Odds?
by Crazyfangirl23
Summary: It's the 50th Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell, and twice as many tributes are being reaped this year, with a twist. Basil Disco is a District 1 Career tribute who enters the life of District 5's Clara Oswald. But will it be a happy Hunger Games, or until death do us part?
1. Chapter 1

What Are The Odds?

He stood amongst everyone else, waiting with a sickening anticipation. Every year it was the same, nervousness, horror, relief. All necessarily in that order. But he had gotten used to it. Even though for the last thirty years he had no longer been eligible it still gave him the fluttering, ominous feeling in his stomach. And this year was special, this year was the second Quarter Quell. A whole twist on the Games that would receive an even bigger and better response of entertainment from the Capitol. And it was with this thought he clenched his fists. He felt the tiniest twinge of pity when thinking about the destined tributes, but knew as he stared at the youthful and determined faces of the children around him he could hardly suppress the thought for long. Nearly everyone would love to represent their district in the Games, having been trained specially - and illegally - in their childhood to prepare for it. It was why volunteer's were so common, and why they had been banned. He wondered how people even found it the slightest bit appealing. 90% chance of dying brutally and the majority were hoping to be picked. To be perfectly honest the district's odds were slightly raised in favour, being fairly wealthy than others and much harder to beat, but the confident and intoxicated smirks on such naive faces made his heart sink. Over his fifty years of living he had never understood why anyone was so eager for it. Looking over the young boys and girls he reminded himself of how he had never been picked himself, how he would be dead right then instead of alive and breathing. Over fifty years was good for any man to reach, like a personal milestone they could say they had lived fully. He vaguely remembered as a small boy, the life he had before the Hunger Games. He only remembered the war and the fights, the Dark Days which had been ongoing for a small part of his childhood. He never remembered before any of that, how the world had been prior to the rise of President Snow. It had probably been a much sweeter life than this one, at least. One he wished he could reminisce. Some people did remember, those who lived over sixty. There weren't many but there sure were some much more than residents of other districts. You'd be lucky to pass the age of forty.

The mayor made his appearance, starting off the while 'ceremony' as he put it. After a boring speech he had no interest in listening to and the list of victor's names being read out in honour the escort stepped in as she usually did.

With her usual politeness and mockingly effervescent clothes she announced. 'Happy Hunger Games!'

He smirked as he always did at the phrase. Labelling the occasion like it was something everyone should be celebrating.

'And may the odds be ever in your favour.'

That one he detested even further. The odds couldn't ever be in your favour if you were dead.

'Now, this is no ordinary Hunger Games. For the second Quarter Quell, twice the number of tributes will be participating. And, it seems that in a recent twist of events, the rule about age restriction has been dropped for this special occasion on order by President Snow.'

The whole court gasped in unison, an unknown and previously unconcerning rule now sparking horror in the faces of the adults. He noticed only now that the two glass balls were filled even more than usual with numerous slips of papers. Of course his presidency would want to royally send even more people to their deaths, in all times of life. He observed for the first time, almost a relieved expression flitter across a few faces, youths who knew there was a slighter chance than usual. Most of them however were looking resentful at the odds it was putting them in. Some of the adolescents looked disappointed or resentful. As the escort reached a hand into the sea of papered doom it suddenly struck him that he was amongst the chosen. For the first time in years, it was a possibility he would compete in the Games. He wasn't worried, however. A few of the poorer teenagers were in there multiple times due to their tesserae. He made his own way easily enough with making various luxury items, and had never needed the extra help from the tesserae when he was younger.

She read the name of two females, one youngish but still an adult, the other clearly still a child, no more than eighteen. The escort soon made her way to the boys, where she read out the name of a man he knew but whom annoyed him greatly. 'Danny Pink' as they called him, was an important manufacturer that made most of the products for the Capitol. He was also a favourite amongst the ladies, although he had no idea why. A selfish thought but one he couldn't repress entered his mind, and for a second he was the tiniest bit glad Danny was competing in the Games. Just because it would give him a much clearer head and a lesser reason to use curse words at him for the rest of his life. His attention snapped back to the stage, where the escort was getting ready to pick the next male tribute. Her hand reached farther and farther until it nearly hit the bottom, where she plucked a piece of paper and stood once again by the podium. He craned his neck to see the adults around him looking doubly fearful for both themselves and their children, more than usual. An impregnated pause settled on the crowd as the escort pursed her lips and finally read the name.

'Basil Disco.'

It was a moment before he even realised it was his own name she had called out. Everyone around him turned his way, pairs of relieved and accusing eyes staring at him. He didn't feel uncomfortable, in fact he didn't feel anything except shock. All his life he had avoided the Games, and now at this stage in his life, he was closer to death in more ways than one. His greatest attribute however, was clearly his face. He showed no emotion whatsoever, although his independently angry eyebrows were glaring at everybody who looked at him. His face made everyone think he was always strong, unfeeling. That he was someone to be reckoned with. It came in useful sometimes in the factory, and perhaps it would too in the Games. He silently made his way onto stage, to where his fellow tributes were standing. He thought he saw Danny wince slightly as he walked over, the smallest of smirks curling his upper lip. Again, maybe it was his face. Too grumpy and threatening for its own good. The wishes of a new life without Danny Pink flew away into the air like breath on a mirror. Now he'd have to put up with him for the rest of the Games. Maybe even kill him. It must have been his own karma playing a twisted joke on him.

He had no doubt he could kill someone, but it didn't mean he wanted to. He was still half expecting someone to volunteer in his place yet reminded himself that that policy was banned after a too confusing charade of people literally pushing their way onto the stage. Pathetic, in his opinion but at least now he'd accepted his fate. He wasn't scared, just a little tense. And from the way the other tributes looked, especially Danny, he was the calmest one there. They were all made to shake hands, and then the anthem played once again like a broken record in his head. Peacekeepers took hold of them, ushering them into the Justice Building. He didn't know why they clutched so tightly to them, like they were at risk from being killed before their prime.

He sat in a room, alone. The decor was much more luxurious, chandeliers, throws over dainty couches and intricately designed carpet. Most of it he knew as his own work, in fact. He never knew what really was shipped off to the Capitol and what stayed here for profit. That was typically Danny Pink's job. He was probably surrounded by family members right now, most of the tributes too. He had no one. His parents were dead, and even then he never really had any extended family beyond that. No brothers or sisters. Not even friends, due to his frosty personality and frequent bitter remarks. He had one once, however. A girl he'd intended to confess his love for but he'd been too late by the time the Games had taken her away from him. He vowed never to get as close to anyone again, despite the fact everyone as old as him had soon grown out of the age restriction. It still hurt him sometimes, but he had moved on. He could only remember her first name, too. Rose. Like the beautiful blood red flower. He hung his head, staring at the embroidered floor, thinking things through. He liked to think he was saving some young man from leaving his family and getting killed. He wasn't worth anything, after all. No one would miss him.

'This was it,' he thought, tapping his foot impatiently. This was the Games he was competing in. Despite his looming and inescapable death he had already come to terms with, he was quite fascinated with the Capitol. Not the people, certainly not those thrilled by the prospect of his death, but just how they lived. The rich buildings, expensive food, the appliances...it must all be so fanciful. The most he'd ever gotten to that was the intricately decorated lamplight in his bedroom and the red velvet coat he was currently wearing. He thumbed the fabric carefully, rubbing it comfortingly beneath his fingers in slow circles, concentrating his mind on the battle ahead of him. He would soon be on television, for the Capitol and all 12 districts to watch him kill mercilessly and end up with a spear in his belly by the end of it too. A peacekeeper entered the room, interrupting him from his dazed trance.

He walked out, the keeper herding him out to the train station with the other tributes. Instantly there were a crowd unseeable behind their camera's taking numerous photos. He hated every second of it, giving them all a glare that would surely send a nice message to the Capitol. He at last could step mercifully onto the shiny silver train he could almost se his reflection in, and gazed around him. It was indeed elaborate, elegant in its design and grandiose in its layout. There were several compartments, sliding doors leading into bedrooms and eating rooms. He raised his eyebrows at it all, overwhelming in its rich colour and his first thought was that it was almost too bright. His eyes felt like they had just looked directly into the sun and seen a myriad of vibrant colours. As the train started moving he made straight for a bedroom, where the hugest bed he ever saw was freshly laid with lily white sheets and stood proudly next to an unnecessarily wide wardrobe. He swept a hand over the soft, crisp sheets, feeling it ripple under his rough hands. He made an enthusing sound and promptly collapsed onto it, already crumpling the tight fitted sheets with a noise that sounded like landing in a pile of autumn leaves. He stretched across it relaxedly, his hands resting behind his head and observed the patterned ceiling.

So far of what he'd seen was enough to forget about his death, just to be ridiculously enthusiastic about the affairs of Capitol-style living, and something told him this was only a minuscule part of what it really was like living in splendour.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She looked out amongst the crowd, everyone staring up at her in a tactless pity that she neither wanted or cared for. The stupid rule at the last minute had sent everyone into a state of panic, and as she glanced toward her other female tribute she was overwhelmed with an anger and sorrow. The Games already had their extra twenty four tributes, and now they wanted any random person for it. She swore she was close enough to killing someone before she even got to the arena she was that maddened. Certain death awaited her beyond the walls of her district and it was making her feel helpless, weak. She never liked feeling like that. Although she was the smallest out of all of them, even the fifteen year old by her side, she still felt as though her rage would get her far, far enough to make it through the first day of the Games. But that was only speculation. She was yet to even see the other tributes and anything could happen during the usual bloodbath. Nothing would make her madder than being murdered on the first day. The anthem of Panem rang in her ears but she paid no attention to it. Her stony face was stoic and as toughened as she could make it. Once the ceremony ended she was marched briskly inside the Justice Building to greet her family and friends. She knew from one look of her stepmother's face she was already preparing a funeral in her head. It wouldn't have surprised her. Everyone around her knew she was being sent off to her death. Over forty-seven other tributes it wouldn't seem likely she'd be crowned victor. She could see it in her father's face, and where her face was devoid of emotion his was full of it. She suddenly smiled at him consolingly, as if it would make everything better. At her brave show of confidence it only to make her father's tears glisten brighter on his cheeks. She stepped gingerly into his embrace, his arms crushing her to him and after a moment she realised just how much she'd miss him and hugged him tighter in return.

'I knew it was too good to be true after surviving your adolescent years without being reaped. You're just starting to begin your life...' He said, his sentence losing itself.

'I know. But at least I've lived it a lot fuller than others.'

He nodded a little in understanding.

'Oh, Clara. This year will be so, so much different. Just please try to hang on as long as you can.'

'I will.' She promised. She'd be damned if she was going to give up so early on.

'You're a fighter, we know that. You'll survive with what you have,' he said, gripping her shoulders and looking her deep in the eyes, 'try to arm yourself with whatever electronics you can get. You're great at handling them.'

'I will.'

'And make alliances, friends. You'll need them.'

'Dad, you know I don't do well with other people.'

'It would be the difference between life and death. You're hotheaded and bossy, your temper could serve you well. But you need people on your side, or you won't survive alone.'

She murmured her assent half heartedly.

'No, Clara, this is serious. You know what they did to your mother!'

Her eyes sharpened and narrowed at him at the mention if her mother, trying to suppress the renewed grief she felt, even after all those years.

'I'm going to die anyway, dad.' She admitted, her eyes unable to meet his. He was silent for a moment, and they both knew she was right.

'It doesn't mean I'll stop fighting,' she said, 'I'm more than prepared. I just don't want to fill my head with an insanely false hope that won't get me anywhere.'

He finally looked at her again, deliberating. 'I understand.'

'Now, I really don't want to leave with an argument on our hands.'

He chuckled just slightly. 'Neither do I.'

It was Clara this time that enfolded him into a hug.

'I love you.' He whispered, pulling away to observe her face and smile proudly at her. 'I always will.'

'I know, I love you too, dad.'

He sniffed a little, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 'Be strong.'

His parting words encouraged a smile and with great reluctance he finally let go.

'I guess you'll want to talk to them now.'

'Yeah.' She whispered.

He patted her shoulder, and with one final study of her face, he let Linda walk him out of the room. She hung her head in sorrow, trying to restrict what she thought were eventuating tears. She knew that would be the last time she'd ever see her father, and it was enough to make her breathless with loss already. The little girl inside her was crying her eyes out with pain and longing already for her father's embraces, but her exterior was kept strictly under rule. A shuffle of feet was heard at the door and she turned to see her friend and two children. Smiling widely, she let the children gather in her arms and hold on like they were never letting go.

'We're going to miss you.' Artie said, looking up into her eyes.

'I'll miss you too. And be glad it wasn't you, Angie.' She said, speaking now to the teenage girl staring at her mournfully.

'I'm sorry if I ever was a pain.'

'You were fine, I've loved every minute of looking after you. You're like my own children.' She told them, issuing another heart-wrenching hug from the young boy.

'I don't want you to die!' Artie exclaimed.

'Hey, now, I'll hang in there as long as I can, alright? You can watch me on the television, trying to fight and fiddling with electronics. Just don't watch my death, alright?'

He nodded meekly. 'Okay.'

'Who will look after us now?' Angie questioned.

'Nina will.' She said, and her attention turned to the woman standing in front of her, a warm but sad smile plastered on her face. Clara pulled her into a hug, remembering in that moment all the time they had spent together, from childhood to womanhood, all the things they had gotten up to. She was thankful at least she had one friend she could rely on and trust, one to pick up the pieces when she was gone for her family and look after the children she'd cared for for over five years.

'I'm going to miss you like hell.' She said, burying her face in her shoulder.

'I know, I will too. Look after Angie and Artie, and my father. He'll need someone there, not just Linda.'

'I will, don't you worry.'

She tightened their hug, almost crushing both of their windpipes.

'I know I won't have to.'

Clara kissed her cheek and smiled at her reassuringly once they had parted, noting the sombre tone of her eyes.

'I never figured it would be like this.'

'I didn't either. But why don't you go out there and find someone, okay? You won't have me around to occupy your time. Go her a boyfriend.'

'Is that an order?' She asked, quirking her eyebrows.

'That's an order.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Clara smiled again, finally striking within her a feeling of true friendship. Nina had been the best of anyone she could ever have befriended and she was indefinitely grateful for all the years they'd spent together.

'Be good to Nina as you are with me, okay? And keep on doing well at school.'

The duo nodded, offering up one last hug before a peacekeeper appeared at the entrance.

Clara hugged Nina again to prolong their farewells and didn't know she had been annoying the keeper with her time wasting until he suddenly pulled her away from Clara.

'Take care of yourself, Nina, I'll miss you.'

'I'll miss you too, Clara, stay alive!'

It was her last words that hit her, and as she stood alone in the now empty room she considered them. 'Stay alive' seemed as imperative as 'lick your shoes.' There was going to be so much competition, and even more testosterone...

When it came to men she was hardly lucky. It was weird to think that her life would end before she even fell in love. It was always something she had considered but never sought out. She was usually far too busy to even think about any of that. It was only now she knew her fate her mind was asking all these questions about what would have happened or what could have happened. Soon enough the peacekeeper led her and the other tributes to the station, where a high tech train was awaiting. Specialising in electrical power and managing the electricity provided for the Capitol, she could guess the train was a sleek electronic model built for a swift journey through each district to the Capitol, to which it would take just over a day. Photographers were waiting for them, eagerly snapping shot after shot of the tributes until the lights were hurting her head. Finally she entered the compartment, her large eyes widening in wonder at the beautifully decorated interior. It near on captivated her with it's dizzying grandeur and impeccable cleanness. Back inside the dams it was a dirty job and helmets were often worn for protection from bright sparks. It was like that now, like she had taken off her helmet in the dank and dirty dam and let the spark of electricity illuminate until it blinded her. She observed the dining rooms, the bedrooms, even the bathrooms with polished silver taps and a rose petal scented aroma. Words couldn't describe the aura about the place, how enticing it all looked. She had to stop herself from smiling broadly, as the whole purpose to the extravagancy was to show them how life is appreciated in the Capitol, how their heritage let them down back in their own districts and to blind them from their own inevitable deaths. All the other tributes had separated to other rooms or had gone to talk to their mentor. She looked down at herself, her red dress looking disheveled and crumpled already. Even though she had showered already (being a master at electronics she was able to create a makeshift shower) being unclean was something that deeply irritated her. Observing all the clothes in her wardrobe she spent at least half an hour of her time just marvelling at the material and beauty of each item before she even had the shower running. Clara had at last picked a navy blue dress and retrieved a towel, the freshest and softest she had ever felt. At home she would have used a wiry blanket to dry herself off. She managed to work the buttons and dials until a hot downpour of water was spilling from the shower head. Clara stared at it for a moment, letting her hand run under it. She had never seen water so crystal clear and pure, only dirtying and faded. It felt amazing, once she had dropped her clothes and stepped under it, gasping as if pleasured by the way it ran down her skin so deliciously, ridding herself of the dirt and momentarily numbing the pain of being away from home. She washed her hair thoroughly until it glinted in the lights and felt smoother than it ever had in her life. Her whole body smelled a mixture of different pleasing scents and she felt truly as if she had just shed skin like a snake. Wrapping herself in the fluffy, warm towel was the next best thing, smiling dreamily and closing her eyes at the sheer peace she had. Which was terribly ironic, she knew.

But Clara couldn't care as she entered the warmth of her bedroom and pursued with a hairdryer which made her giddy just at how flawless it made her hair feel. She changed into the dress, and decided to wander around. She finally settled at the very front of the train, where she could see the tracks and the sky, evergreen trees that were a rare sight to behold back in her district. They were speeding past so quickly she barely had time to register much from one moment to the next. It felt unrealistic, near on surreal that she was there. She couldn't help but remind herself of the dread awaiting her in the arena. It made everything around her so much more disappointing. She turned her head when one of her fellow tributes joined her, a vivacious woman no older than twenty. She looked even young enough to still be reaping age. Her eyebrows were raised and her hair had a mind of its own, curls frizzing round her head. She looked friendly enough. Not the kind of girl she'd ever want to admit to killing.

'I noticed you don't seem affected by all this.' She began, sitting beside her.

She snorted. 'Is that really how I look?'

'To me it does, yeah.'

'It's wonderful and everything but it's only a distraction.'

'I meant the Games.'

She turned round to stare at her, without a reply.

'At the reaping, you looked emotionless. Painless.'

'Oh, I'm in pain alright. I've had to say goodbye to my parents, my best friend and my children.'

'I'm sorry about that.'

Clara looked once again bemusedly at the girl.

'You don't seem to realise that once we're in the arena we're enemies, do you? You seem so...compassionate.'

'Not always, you can make alliances.'

'But in the end it will only result in more bloodshed. From your partners and from others. Eventually you have to turn on one another. Alliances are dangerous things.'

'But they can help you survive longer.'

'Yeah, I guess so. But it will always end in more pain and that's something the Games already brings to you and that's why I stay independent.'

'You don't like making friends?'

'It's not that, I just don't want to see them hurt.' She glanced up at her dark eyes, wondering if she could ever see a friend in someone who was to shortly turn against her. For some reason she didn't strike her as someone who would stab her in the back.

'Sorry, I never asked you your name. I must have heard it at the reaping but I think I was too shocked to be listening.'

'That's alright. My name's Bill.'

'Bill,' she smiled, 'were you eligible before that new, stupid rule?'

The answer surprised her greatly.

'No, I'm 28 years old.'

'You're what? You look like a teenager!'

'Do I?'

'Yes, I was expecting 18 or something.'

'Well, I'll take that compliment.' She chuckled.

'How come I've never seen you around then? I'm only one year older than you, after all.'

'I work based round the power plants more than the dams. My house is a little further than most, too.'

She nodded. 'Well, I think I can smell food.'

'I've seen it all, there are dishes I've never heard of that taste wonderful.'

'Well, if you're not too full you can join me.'

Bill smiled as they walked out of the compartment where their mentor and a plates and plates of food were piled high on the mahogany tables. Even though she knew once the Games were afoot she'd become independent once more, having Bill there was an extreme comfort. She reminded her of Angie and Artie in particular, such enthusiasm and joy that Clara almost felt bad for. It was nice to come across such a positive character but she still couldn't shake her thoughts from the misleading lie of being there, eating the food and indulging in the facilities. God knows what it would be like in the Capitol. As her eyes swept round the room she reminded herself that they were harvested, only to be reaped in the end. They were all born to die.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When he entered the dining compartment his stomach was rumbling furiously and the smells of all the food made him achingly ravenous. He could only make three quarters of his plate, being so used to the small portions of his usual mealtimes. The food was insanely rich for his stomach but the taste was beyond anything he could've ever described. He looked around at the tributes with huge appreciative grins on their faces, cheeks bulging with food. He couldn't help coming back to it, so deliciously irresistible and something he revelled in. He felt as though the food he'd consumed had changed him in a way that could have only been epicurean.

His mentor had said a few things to which he should probably have listened to, but ignored. He was too overcome from the recent experience he'd encountered, which he decided had already made his death a lot softer and easy to deal with. He thought then that his perspective would probably change once they arrived at the Capitol and he was absolutely right. When the train pulled up at the station and he stepped out, he was greeted by people behind barriers, the most bizarre looking mob he had ever seen. It was hard to believe they were human; some of them had tattoos all over their body and face, unnecessarily huge and precarious wigs, a few of them even had a completely different, extravagant colour of skin. They were clamouring, shouting, smiling at the tributes that walked past, obviously already entertained by their very presence. His startling physical appearance clearly portrayed his feelings in that moment, going back on everything he'd thought on the train. He felt angry at how the Games had clearly started already. He was the only one out of the tributes looking unimpressed and rageful. His mentor skipped past, her large fingernails scraping his shoulder.

'Look cheerful, Basil. You'll never get sponsors.'

'It's Bas.' He said resentfully, teeth gritted, and every word he said enunciated with infuriation. He felt exploited, exposed, uncomfortable. All the things he detested. His eyesight was trained explicitly on the path ahead of them, watching as other tributes reached for the audience's hands or waved at them excitedly. He was glad once they were out of their sight and he had time to calm down. The people of the Capitol had already annoyed him with their naïveté and joy. While the buildings were a sight to behold in all their dazzling beauty, his mood hadn't improved. The first thrills of being amidst such lavishing surroundings had dissipated to a disgust. Which was unusual for a District 1 tribute but he had been alive far longer than other people to know everything about this was wrong.

They were transported immediately to a place called the Remake Centre, in where he spent a considerable amount of time being remade. Hair was ripped off his body and the thin robe that had been wrapped round him was slowly becoming unravelled. Three highly ostentatious Capitol stylists flocked around him like hawks, pulling and scrubbing and tugging until he felt sore all over. They trilled their apologies but they didn't really matter. He was mostly just conscious of the fact these three women were circling his body and that he valued his privacy some more than others. One of them had appeared at his head, eyes rolling up just to catch the sight of long and wickedly sharp scissors. His panic soon turned to anger.

'No, no, no, no, no not the hair!'

'This one's a feisty one,' she grinned to her fellow stylists, then looked back down at him. 'No worries, every tribute keeps their hair as they want it.'

'Then what-' he was about to reply, but his head was smacked back down on the table and the scissors advanced near his eyebrows.

'Not them either!' He shouted, laughs coming all around at his request.

'You want to retain the image of an angry owl, do you?'

Coming from a woman whose hair was dyed electric blue and her own eyebrows were practically flying off her head. She looked like a rare type of skinned bird.

'I guess he wants to appear angry and brutal for the Games.' One of them said. Completely unintentional but whatever won him the right for his eyebrows, he was sure to go along.

'Fine.' The other sighed.

He wanted to be himself as much as possible, not the Capitol's own varied image of him.

They finally let him out of the uncomfortable seat and let him stand. Yet what came even more as a surprise to him was all of them taking off his robe so he stood completely naked. His eyebrows tightened ragingly as he took a few steps back from what only could have been described as his 'eager' stylists.

He felt self conscious and mildly embarrassed as they swarmed around him, clipping a few more hairs and neatening his whole body generally.

'He's certainly tough. A little skinnier than what we'd expect from One but it's probably come with age.'

He sighed impatiently as one of them circled round his thigh.

'Ooh yes, he has fine thighs to say the least.' She made an effort of trying to rid him of hair but he couldn't help wonder if they were dawdling just a little. It didn't seem much like they were doing anything but staring. He cautiously retrieved his robe from the floor, wrapping it right around himself. His chest was stinging and completely hairless, as was the rest of his body.

'You shouldn't do that, your stylist will want to inspect you, too.'

He grumbled but let go of the cloth, subconsciously playing with his signet ring to distract himself from how awkward he felt. It was anyone that could now come in now to gawk at his body and he felt somewhat violated. Finally she came in, just as flamboyant as the rest. The presence of too many women were starting to get him down and he wanted nothing more than to put some clothes on. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. She walked in a slow circle, like he was her viewing pleasure, stopping at some points but not saying a word. His expression only became further anguished.

'I'm sure I can make you up for the ceremony just fine.' She smiled.

'Good, now you've decided that, could I put my robe back on?'

'What a temper! Could go down really well with the crowd. Mean and lean, you are. We haven't had someone like you for years.'

'Good to know.' He said, uninvitingly picking up his robe again.

'Follow me.'

He was lead to a sitting room, where they talked over dinner about the design of dress for the opening ceremony. He really didn't want to be shown off again to so many people, he longed for another bed to retire to.

It was no time at all before he was fitted along with the rest of the tributes with glittering tunics that were itchy more than they were glamorous. Bejewelled jackets were thrown over them too and he stood at the back with the young tribute girl, whose name he couldn't remember.

'Remember, smile, wave, look cheerful. Anything to win over the sponsors!' Their stylist announced, staring deliberately at him. He snorted, turning his attention to the snowy white horses that were about to lead them out to the City Circle. He couldn't help noticing that the girl beside him was looking defiantly brave for such a small girl. He smiled a little at her before asking her name.

'Ashildr.' She said starkly.

He nodded, muttering to himself once the parade had begun and they were shunted along where everyone was in good view of him.

'I hate all these people watching me.' He muttered, looking around at the building and trying his best to ignore the roaring crowd. His image appeared on one of the flags, one by one, and it was clearly portraying a man of physical countenance. His impenetrable eyes glared ahead of him, to where Danny Pink was standing there in all his glory, thick skinned and strong demeanour waving at the crowd. What a prat. Bas turned his eyes to Ashildr, who stood at least a few heads shorter but was nonetheless making an impression.

'I hate these people too.' She agreed, although she was smiling and waving innocently and sweetly at the sponsors.

'Then why are you tolerating it?'

'I don't have an appearance like yours, I can't look as tough and angry as I am the way that you do. I like your approach but you should at least try to win over some sponsors.'

'I don't want to.'

'It could be the difference between life and death.' She said, turning to him.

He smiled just a fraction down at her. She seemed smart, wise, strong, for her age.

'I don't plan on living.'

She nodded understandingly, yet went back to charming the crowd. As the carriage came to an eventual stop in front of President Snow's mansion he briefly looked around him, at all the tributes of all the districts standing their either proud or shrewd. Some were even still addressing the crowd like they were the only part of the ceremony worth taking interest in. As he looked back a few carriages, he spotted one particular tribute with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and a look of pitying boredom, like she was unimpressed by everything she saw. After a moment he noticed the costumes they were in, all of them lit up like stars. She was easily the most beautiful one there but she didn't take pride in it like others did. He guessed by their get ups she was District 5. He couldn't take his eyes off her as she suddenly caught sight of him too. They stared and glared, feeling their gazes burn one another, directly in the eyes. A moments contact and as President Snow was about to begin, he turned his head to look up at him. While he made a speech about the special event taking place this year that was the Quarter Quell, somehow Bas was craning his neck just to get another look at her. She had peculiarly struck something within him, a level of understanding. He turned his attention back to Snow.

'In light of recent events, the rule this year about the age was unlimited, along with the extra twenty four tributes. This might possibly become one of the greatest Hunger Games ever seen. Be proud that you are all apart of this,' he said, in his sharp, clipped tone. 'and may the odds be ever in your favour.'

With that the carriages were led back to the stable of the Remake Centre, and as he climbed off he glimpsed the young woman leaking against her own carriage, trying to take off her costume. He watched her for a second, becoming even more oddly fascinated by her every second. He couldn't tell what it was but as soon as their eyes met again he felt it. Neither one of them looked away until it had turned into a silent game playing amongst everyone else moving toward the exit doors. She smiled a little once he had ultimately blinked and he couldn't help the corners of his mouth curling upward into a friendlier smirk. Eventually they were shuffled out with their own district's team and lost sight of each other. He couldn't help feeling like he'd just made a sort of negotiable ally.

They were led up to their apartments afterward in the Training Centre and rode the astounding elevator, to which was a pure crystal. He gasped slightly at how he could see everything below and around him. The ride was cut off extremely short however when they reached their room first. District 1. He almost wanted to ask his escort if they could go up all the way to the top. The only thought that ran through his mind when he saw their living quarters was how insanely huge it was. The beds were even nicer than the ones on the train, a carafe of water even standing by his bedside. He snorted. Water just didn't come as freely as it should back at home.

If he thought the bedrooms were big, the outstretch of the living room was massive, with fabric throws and puffed cushions. Some of the small chairs were even embedded with small rhinestones. He could only have imagined how much that would cost in a shop and the quality of the materials used.

Despite how incredible it all was there was still a sense of detainment in the atmosphere, the entry door having being shut profoundly behind them.

For the second time Bas washed his hair, feeling so much more natural than the wild makeover session he had received upon arriving. His whole body felt like it had been scrubbed clean of everything, his skin almost raw. His unkempt curls had gone flat but with drying they would be bouncier than ever. He'd never had a proper shower before, instead snuck out to the small woods and bathed in the lake.

Their escort told them supper would be served in a short while but he couldn't think of his stomach. He felt like he'd already eaten half a cow back on the train and the Remake Centre. Once again, he trailed to his temporary bedroom, most likely the last he would ever sleep in. He felt drained of all energy from the events today, especially being out in front of a crowd. He couldn't help thinking that despite his stature, he was a lot older than his other tributes and possibly the oldest one out of all of them. He wasn't as strong or vigilant or fast as he used to be and he couldn't help but feel that it would surely lead to an early downfall. In fact, if he had been reaped back in his youth he bet he could've won the Hunger Games. He would have been a lot more cheerful in both spirit and physical appearance and of course now he beheld a solemn face and attack eyebrows.

He thought once again of the girl, who had caught his attention immediately, but not the crowd's. Which confused him a lot. He yawned tiredly, desperately hoping to fall asleep rather than stay up all night contemplating the Games.

When his eyes subsequently closed and he drifted asleep his last thought was of home. He was leaving it behind having lived his life extended, and perhaps that was better than dying back in his district never having to know the grandeur of the Capitol. But then again, he was still infuriated by the Games and of the lives surely to be lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Capitol was impressive but it wasn't enough to lift her mood. She'd rather spend a few weeks at home than be shipped off here for her last days to live. She realised just how much she already missed her family. It became infectious, as she had stepped off the train to greet numerous citizens screeching for the destined dead. It sickened her even more than the train had. All the glamour, it was too much for her head. She had wondered why people would use their bodies in such a way to look ridiculous, but then again if she lived there, would she follow the conventional norm?

It felt like an age before they were away from the crowds. And even then in the Remake Centre her stylists were dressed in such a way it almost made her laugh aloud. After being washed of all dirt and hair she felt just a little better about herself, even with enough confidence to stand there naked in front of them. It was an annoyance back home, of being clean. The choice of costume had certainly been interesting too, if a little bulky. She had no doubt it made her feel stupid but was surprised at her stylist's efforts. Once riding the carriages with all the other tributes her immediate reaction once again turned to animosity.

Everyone cheered as they rolled out amongst all the others, not particularly standing out but making an impression. The tribute she was standing with, Rory, was smiling a little while Mickey in front was cheering along with the crowd, even jumping. Clara smirked embarrassingly and Bill turned to look at her with the same sort of smile on her face. Nonetheless she stuck it out, arms crossing challengingly and her face tensing stony at the ceremony. Celebrating innocent death was one thing, but the tributes actually enjoying it - that was tragic.

For the rest of the ride she focused on the other carriages, trying to see who they were, what they were wearing. Her eyes alerted her almost immediately to a grey-haired man standing at the back of the first carriage, covered in jewels. District One. They were always the favourites, and one of the districts she despised the most. The man had unruly silver curls and one look from the banner above her head told her he was probably one of those Careers not to be reckoned with, despite his age. He looked fierce, almost mad, the most ferocious pair of eyebrows she'd ever seen and blue eyes ringed with a burning impatience. She wondered if he was competitive like all his other tributes, if he was confident of winning. Or if he feared death. Although he interested her greatly she couldn't help but feel as though he was a fearless classic example of a Career that hadn't gotten his time. He could be one of the tributes who would ring-lead the Career pack. His appearance seemed that way, certainly. But when he unexpectedly turned round to look at her dead in the eyes she was surprised by the gentility in his eyes, even though his eyebrows counterweighted almost every smile as a smirk. She froze almost immediately, staring into his eyes until he was forced to look away. Snow was starting to speak but she didn't listen to a word of it. All the time she gazed at him, still speculating. Had she made an ally or an enemy?

She couldn't tell whether he was looking at her in return on the way back but steeled herself once again in that time. Already she'd been too curious and too off guard to realise that she'd lost her senses. Already she was sidetracked from the game. She couldn't let herself do that. Stay strong and let no one near you. She had to stick by those rules or stand by with pain. Even though she promised herself she would not allow anyone to affect her head she couldn't resist the smile she gave back to him once inside the Remake Centre. He smirked back, friendly enough. Something within them made her unusually drawn to him, like he was a magnet. Everyone was leaving, but he remained where he was. She looked away, walked off with her other tributes after remembering the promise she had made only moments ago. She didn't look back but could feel his eyes burning into her back.

The next morning was the first day of training, and she listened on uninterestedly over a wonderful breakfast. Servants carried trays in and out every five minutes with different items that Clara could hardly keep up with. She tried to talk to them, but it seemed as if they were unable to, for reasons her escort didn't mention.

Her mind turned once again of the near future, the Games, but also the three days in which all tributes would train together. It would be the time for devising plans in her head and taking note of everyone's strengths and weaknesses. She herself was good with snares and appliances, wondering momentarily if they'd have any sort of electrical weapon. The tributes didn't make her nervous, although something about seeing the silver haired District 1 tribute again set her slightly on edge for no apparent reason. When the four of them were sent down in identical clothing to the large gymnasium she scanned the stations crowded with double the amount of people than usual, almost swarming. There were tributes already practising in small fights with swords, some learning different snares and a line of dummies were being stabbed or shot at by arrow, trident or gun. She blended in, giving everyone a second look as she passed them, loosely basing anyone on their appearance. A few were as young as fifteen but she could notably see the large increase of burly men brutally training with others in combative competition. The women were also a very varied group, some looking almost deadly and some sly. Yet most of all the tributes they were just like her; normal people, most likely fathers and mothers with the exception of a few children. Bubbling anger rose up her throat once again at how sickening it all was. But she dismissed this quickly and settled at where she fiddled with snares, making trap after trap, sometimes instructing another tribute. It was a little ironic, to her. Helping tributes was putting you at an even higher risk than necessary. But when it came to it, none of that would matter. There was only one person in the room that would leave the Capitol alive. Refusing help to someone was fruitless. She looked around her after a few minutes, trying to catch sight of the male One tribute that had invaded her thoughts so ridiculously. It was horrifying, when she realised the pit of her stomach folded in disappointment when she couldn't. Intrigue was one thing but obsession was another. She told herself she wouldn't get sidetracked so quickly. Strategy. Always a strategy. Turning back to plotting and tactics kept her mind off him and she eventually wondered to where guns were perched in holsters. She had never really felt one, used one. The peacekeepers in her district often kept guns in their suits but only rarely were they used. Which was a lot more than other districts, considering that a select few were Capitol favourites. She had no doubt their system was more relaxed.

Handling the small weapon she decided she liked the feel of it in her hand. Not too heavy, not a hindrance like a trident would be or a bow and arrow over your shoulder. Something easy to work with. She targeted the dummies' heart, squinting her eyes and taking a second before releasing. The bullet whistled to the stomach of it, not where she was aiming for but at least a winning shot. She almost felt proud of herself and fired a few more, feeling a lot more comfortable with each hit she made until one landed square in the forehead. She smiled slightly as she lowered her arm. A natural talent then, and already an advancement to what was confusion on her part of performance. At least she could say she could defend herself now. Moving on to the sword fights, she observed a female and male tribute both fighting with large broadswords. Silly, really. She eyes the fencing swords and wondered once again if it was something she'd be good at. Yet once she had picked one up, a guy with dirty blonde hair was facing her, a sword in his own hand. He looked down on her not ferociously, but more friendly than she'd seen other tributes. He had muscled arms but a stick thin build, most likely from one of the poorer districts. Despite this he looked down at her confidently.

'Care for a fight?' He drawled.

She had no idea how or why he'd decided to ask her of all people or if it was random selection but her voice didn't waver.

'I haven't practised with it yet.'

'It's fairly simple,' he cut across, 'you attack, I defend.'

'And you want me to believe that that's all there is too it?'

'Essentially. But of course, I'd only just picked one up an hour ago so who knows.'

She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Seriously?'

'Yeah. What do you say?'

'Fine.'

Something about him she liked, made her agree to a fight she had no idea how to handle. But as he jabbed the pointed end at her she managed to block it. Soon, it was metal on metal clanging nearly effortlessly. The more she did it the more she felt confident with it. A few moves surprised her herself, some parrying she whooped with victory at. Although being as short as she was, she didn't let her guard down, and she was smiling now at the thrill of the fight. It obviously wasn't much, but it was amusing, her opponent starting to grin alongside her. Finally with a swoop of his sword, the tip of it suddenly wavered just a few centimetres from her chin. She laughed, staring up at his blue eyes.

'You win.' She whispered, as his sword lowered and he stepped a fraction closer.

'You were good yourself. First time and all.'

'I guess so. Which district are you from?'

'12.'

'The coal district.'

'Yep. No chance I'll be getting out of here alive.'

'I think we're all telling ourselves the same thing.'

He nodded, smirking a little.

Stop this, she told herself. You're getting too close to people already. Stop.

Obviously her mouth had different things to say.

'What's your name?'

But before she recieved a reply, a foreign sword collided into hers and suddenly she was in combat. She retaliated almost instantly, metal screaming loudly against the other. He had moved like an animal, so fast he was only a blur until her eyes focused on who she was fighting. The owlish face, the ruffled curls...the male One tribute she had been exchanging eye conversations with. He was moving backward as she advanced toward him, an angered expression and an intent of winning clear on her face as his own curled up into that famous smirk. Once again she had been held to knifepoint, grazing lightly over her skin as they stared at each other, hardly breathing. He seemed to be studying her face and she couldn't make herself tear her eyes away from him. Why he had so unexpectedly decided to draw her into combat she had no idea. Was it to catch her attention? To distract her? To show off? To impress her? To match up her ability?

It was him who finally stepped away. For a moment she stood there breathless, frozen, like he had just taken away all the air from her lungs. He gave her that perennial look, one that quietened the burning itch at the back of her throat. She was speechless, for the first time in her life. What had just happened?

'You've picked that up quickly.' He said.

She forced her eyes to unlatch themselves from him, glance quickly over her shoulder to look back at her previous opponent. He looked a little resentful the other tribute had disrupted their conversation with his flourishes. But of course, her attention turned back to the owl glaring at her. She couldn't tell if he was mad, sad or happy.

'I wanted to test you,' he explained carefully, 'see if you really were on your guard.'

'A little dangerous. Only started to use this. I could have hurt you. Could have hurt myself like that.'

'But you didn't,' he said smugly, 'Anyone could do that in the actual Games. But you're always on your guard.'

She crossed her arms in front of her, like he had just offended her.

'I guess it will come in handy, then.' She said stonily.

'I guess it will.' He smiled, turning the hilt in his hand and setting it back down in its place.

She turned away from him, guiltily trudging back to the district 12 boy she had left.

'Who are you?' He called, his tone sounding contrastingly uninterested either way.

'Clara,' she said carelessly, not bothering to turn back to him, 'Clara Oswald.'

She didn't catch his name but smiled to herself as she walked away.

'Clara,' The 12 boy said, 'you okay?'

'Yeah. Sorry, he uh-' she glimpsed behind her but he wasn't there anymore, 'what was your name again?'

He responded with a slight smile but the spark in his eyes had winked out.

'Haymitch.'

'Nice to know you, Haymitch.' She smiled genuinely. It only struck her how much younger he was, especially after seeing the district One tribute. Too young.

'How old are you?'

He laughed dryly. '16.'

'So young. You shouldn't even be here.'

'I've always wondered why they chose to reap adolescents in particular.'

'Because they're cruel. Revoltingly cruel.'

'Yeah they are, aren't they. If you don't mind me asking-'

'How old I am? Considerably older than you. 29.'

'Not too old.'

'Thanks.'

The pause between them became increasingly awkward, but Haymitch managed to save the waning conversation successfully.

'So, are you sticking with the sword?'

'Maybe. I think I prefer the gun.'

'The gun? I didn't think that would be your type of weapon.'

'There's hardly anything that falls under my category, really. District 5, electrical power.'

'Ah. Well, for me I'm partial to the knife. I hunt everything I can with it.'

'I think it will do you well.'

'Maybe.'

Overhead, she spotted him again, throwing a spear at a dummy. Excusing herself from Haymitch's presence she stalked over to him.

'What was that all about?'

He smirked at her before throwing another spear. It hit the target just above the waistline.

'I already told you.' He said, rubbing his hands together.

'Why me?' She asked.

'Why not?' He shrugged, picking up a trident. Clara too holstered her gun, firing a shot to the target.

'You're not making this easy are you?'

'I wasn't under the impression I made anything easy at all.'

'I can believe that.'

'Do you like him?'

'Who, the boy I was fighting? Yeah.'

'Will be a shame. All of this, all these people. Too tragic.'

'There I can agree.'

'I don't think there's even any point of training, especially for me. I'm an old man.'

'Not too old.' She told him.

'I'm gonna die.'

'We're all going to die.'

'No easy way to say it.'

'You've already accepted your fate?'

'I have. One out of forty-eight isn't exactly the best odds.'

'They never are fair odds.'

She shot again in anger, the bullet burying furiously where the nose was supposed to be.

'You have a good shot.'

'Thanks.'

She hardly knew what to do with all the compliments. She'd be flattered to death before the Games had even started.

'You have good aim.'

'I have steady hands. That's all.'

'I guess I should ask you your name.'

'On first name basis with an adversary. Now that's dangerous.'

Clara frowned a little. 'What is it?' She said impatiently.

He paused and threw another spear before answering, and good reason too. She almost spluttered.

'Basil Disco.' He said resentfully, almost too quiet to hear.

'Basil?!'

'Yes, well, it's Bas.'

'I don't need to ask you which district you're from with that name. One always has the most stupidest names in the Games.'

'You knew anyway, I was bedecked in jewellery at the opening ceremony.' He argued.

'You stood out like a sore thumb.'

'I know. The oldest, the weakest, the angriest.'

'Well I agree with the last statement.'

'I am the oldest, Clara.'

She looked around at her surroundings, at all the people. He was probably right. Despite all the varied age gaps she could spot no one with grey hair or ageing features. Somehow it suited him too well, she couldn't imagine him looking younger. They're talk died down as they resumed shooting and spearing and throwing until their arms ached. She didn't see Haymitch for the rest of the day and felt a little sympathetic for him.

After what only seemed half an hour everyone was filing out of the room, and she realised that time had practically flown away from her. The room was emptying, the whole training session had gone by in a flash. She walked out with Bas, her brain thinking over just how complicated it had been made just after one day. Already her independence was failing and although something about Bas intrigued her immensely it wasn't too late to stop their interaction. Yet of course she didn't have the heart to do it.

'I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. Maybe even for another sword fight.' She started to walk away but his voice reached her once again.

'Actually, have you seen the roof?' He said, leaning closer to her than was necessary, 'I've been poking around here, sneaked out of my apartment before breakfast. It's a nice little spot.'

She deliberated deeply before answering. She was getting closer to these people, people who were supposed to be enemies. She herself was supposed to be self reliant and individualistic.

He looked down at her with a softening of his gaze, a light smirk and his eyes inviting her even more.

'You can see the whole city.' He said.

She decided that having one friend wouldn't necessarily kill her, and she really could use the comfort, since she was away from home, her family. Even if it was from Bas.

'Fine then. A few minutes.'

He smiled and she followed him into the elevator. They both marvelled at the tiny specks of people below them as they shot up to the top floor. She had never experienced anything like it. The rush of her stomach as it rose, the height and craftsmanship. She thought about how Capitol citizens would never truly admire something as glamorous but so mundane in their lives. This, for them, would be nothing but essential.

They enter a dome-shaped room and that opens up to the balcony, and as she walked closer to the edge, her heart thumped faster. It was nearing on nighttime, just after dusk and the Capitol was still buzzing with life. Cars speeding by, lights on all the buildings bright and illuminating the whole city. It really was a breathtaking sight. Bas stood beside her, and for a moment they didn't do anything but stare at the view. She could imagine waking up to this sight every morning and never get tired of it.

'It's painful to see a beautiful city and know you've been sentenced to death.'

His eyes seemed fixed slightly on the mansion, just visible beyond everything. The home of President Snow.

'It is. I just wish this whole thing was fair.'

'I don't think it ever will be.' He said grimly. Clara had to pause to think over the meaning of his words. It was understandable he had lost faith in the system but completely dismissing the idea of a revolutionary change made her think he was completely hopeless.

'I'm not sure. Someday, maybe. Someday a tribute might just get it right.'

He sank low to the ground, legs outstretched, still staring at the cityscape beyond the iron railings. She copied him, but studied his face instead. Something about his face was profoundly more interesting than the view.

'Perhaps. I just don't know what to believe. There'll just be the Games and then nothing. That's it.'

'You might get far.' She reasoned.

'That doesn't matter. Same fate whatever happens.'

Surprising not only him but herself, she found her fingers stretching toward his and lightly squeezing them. He looked at her with nothing shirt of a shocked expression and his infamous eyebrows quirked upward a little.

'Why don't we talk about something else, huh? It would be nice to get this whole Games out of our minds for a few minutes.'

He seemed to calm under her words, though she could feel his fingers were tense under her touch. She withdrew them, never taking her eyes off him.

'Do you have a family?'

'I have a father and a stepmother, a friend called Nina. And I adopted two kids that mean the world to me.'

'Glad to hear someone had a nice life.'

'Why, didn't you?'

'I lost my mother and my father in the war. I was just a child. Raised by my aunt until she died too. The Hunger Games took my girlfriend away at 18. I haven't had anyone since.'

'I'm sorry. I can see why you resent the Games so much, like I do.'

'Why?'

She took a breath. Explaining this to anyone was still painful, and she could hardly believe she was telling a rival tribute, of all people. Yet somehow she trusted him enough.

'The victor from the 27th Hunger Games somehow managed to kill the Head Gamemaker. As punishment the Capitol killed her family. The eldest daughter of that family was my mother.'

His eyes dropped, head bowing respectfully.

'I guess we've all lost someone in our lives.'

'I'd be surprised if anyone of those tributes hadn't.'

'How old are you?'

His tone turned a trifle sharper. 'Why would you wanna know?'

'You said you're parents died in the war, that you were a child. You're older than the Games itself, aren't you?'

He nodded. 'I've lost track of how old I am, to be honest. Fifty-eight I think. Or fifty-seven.'

'Do you remember anything from the war?'

'Not really. I remember my parents deaths. I remember being sheltered in the smallest hut imaginable for over three months. That's it.'

'So your name didn't originate from District One. It spawned the whole lot of eccentric names thereafter.' She teased.

'It's not too bad, is it?' He complained.

'Basil Disco. I don't know, a little too glamorous for me. Clara Oswald is plain and boring, like my district.'

'No, I like your name because of that reason. I hate everything about mine.'

'It also sounds nice in your accent.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'You're in a complimentary mood today.'

'Probably more than I should be.'

'Yeah, it doesn't do too well trying to flatter someone to stop them from killing you.'

'You...you're so much different to the Careers.'

'I was born before the Games, I wasn't raised to be like them. I think they're as foolish as you do. Bloodthirsty and brutal.'

'I thought you would be the same. Aggressive and tough and the ringleader of the Careers pack. Someone not to be reckoned with.'

'Oh, I can be aggressive and tough towards other people Clara, I'm just being nice to you. The Careers in my district are the classic example. That stupid soldier boy Danny and even the fiery redhead. Ashildr is young too but nonetheless feisty. I'm sure she could defeat many opponents.'

'Why are you being nice to me, then?'

He sighed. 'Why do you keep asking me that?'

'Why wouldn't I want to know? I'm the most uninteresting of all the tributes here. I'm honestly nothing special.'

'And yet you showed skill in both swordplay and shooting, how is that not special?' His eyes didn't look away from hers, not even for a fraction of a second. She could feel the intensity of it almost becoming tangible.

'I'll be easy to beat.' She shrugged.

'You have charm and wit too, though. You shouldn't forget those, they could come in handy.'

'How do you know this already, we just met properly a few hours ago and that was you nearly detaching my limbs with your sword.'

'I simply observed you, Clara. You're so much more interesting than you seem.'

His voice became soft, and she could sense the whirlpool of thought his brain was taking him.

'You're kind. I didn't expect it from you.' She whispered.

'I'm kind to those I want to be kind to, Clara. One of them is you.'

He smiled when she did, leaning further against the railing. The wind was whipping at both of their hairs, almost blinding her, and his own curls ruffling wildly.

'I think we should go.'

'Were we even supposed to be here in the first place?' She asked.

'I've actually no idea.'

She laughed as they ran to shelter, marvelling at how forceful the wind was before riding the elevator down to her apartment.

'I'll see you tomorrow.' He said, as she stepped out.

'I'll make sure to surprise you with a sword being shoved in your face.'

He chuckled. 'I'll look forward to it.'

She watched him slowly disappear as the elevator descended to the first level of apartments. The voice in her mind screaming about her promise to stay away from others quietened a little, and for the first time she didn't care.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Being with Clara reminded him sorely of being with Rose. His girlfriend had been the light of his life until that fateful day she was reaped. It had been the worst day of his life, and therefore grew to hate anyone who would willingly volunteer as tribute. If only the rule about volunteering had been established before her Games, he was sure at least one other person would take it. Saying goodbye had been like the devastation of his parents all over again. He knew she was strong but not enough to win. He had watched those Games with a horror he never thought could be replaced with again.

Clara, Clara, Clara. It wasn't just the imprint of Rose's whimsical ways that drew her to him, but her sense of realness, understanding. She was feisty and challenging. More talented than she knew. She had already made this rocky journey just a little bit bearable. And, weirdly enough, she was fun to be around. A charmer, a pleaser. Someone he could relate to.

His demands of independence were slowly slipping away from him, the more he saw Clara the less he was sure he didn't want allies. She would be perfect, an ally worth having. He got the feeling it would be incessantly hard to do otherwise, resort to the 'hunting alone' path. As the final day of training came around it was pretty obvious of all tributes they'd both pick for allies if they could. Clara's skill in fighting had improved and by the end of the last day they were having full on sword fights. She was a quick learner, faster than he would have expected from any other tributes. He himself knew a little just from watching the Careers train.

'Wait there a minute.' She says, and he was left standing by the spears when she walked away from him. There was a group of tributes she was being dragged to by Haymitch, of all people. As soon as he saw Danny his eyebrows drew together disapprovingly. Clara, while the smallest, stood out from everyone. Apparently now she was a popular choice of ally and something about the way they were smiling and circling her angered him. Danny in particular looked as if he had already won Clara's favour. Maybe it was her newfound skills or surprising knowledge of poisonous plants that had caught their attention. Or maybe it was her face. Even 16 year old Haymitch was annoying him. After a moment of inspecting their back and forth chat he decided to walk over when Clara started to look defensive.

'Clara, are you okay?' He asked. She nodded and he looked deep into Danny's eyes.

'Is he bothering you?'

'No.' Danny answered for himself.

'What do you want?'

'I was asking Clara, not you.'

'Asking her what?' He demanded. He was almost head to head with him, and although older he stood taller than Danny, who was mostly all muscle and no brain. He didn't trust this man at all.

'Bas, it's okay.' Clara interjected, pushing past him. 'I don't want allies, Danny, I work alone. Sorry.'

He looked dumbfounded, as if he was still comprehending that no meant no. Even Haymitch looked disappointed at her words.

'Why not? You've already made alliances with him.' He accused, giving Bas a look that was meant to be intimidating but hardly made him twitch.

Clara glanced in his direction once. He knew this was also the moment of truth with their own alliance. They hadn't brought the subject up until then and he didn't know how she or himself truly thought about it.

'I never said I had.' She finished.

Indirect. Still open ended for him but enough for Danny.

'You fit in with the Careers,' he said, 'you're a real good fighter.'

Bas knew that that had nothing to do with it. He had purely determined now that Danny was uninterested in anything but her attractiveness. He thought it was absurd himself.

'Maybe you should take no for no, buddy. She's already made that clear.'

Danny moved closer to him, his face trying to be menacing.

'Why don't you butt out of it?'

He snorted. 'Unless Clara really does want to become your ally, I suggest you do the same.'

'You'll be the first I kill.' he decided.

'I'd like to see you try.'

'Bas! Walk away, will you?' Clara shook his shoulder but he took no notice of it.

'It would be extremely entertaining,' he continued, watching Danny's face screw up.

'You're weak and pathetic. I could break you in half, old man.'

'And if it wasn't for that ridiculous beard I would have taken that seriously.' He smirked.

Danny was obviously offended by this, as his hands pushed him so he recoiled violently. Careers were stuck up, savage and too headstrong for their own good. Bas only saw red when he looked up at that smug face and subsequently landed a punch round the cheek, which made it actually bleed. Everyone watching crept away fearfully at his surprising strength. When Danny had recovered he grabbed Bas' shirt and tried to strangle him, but another punch made him stagger. Danny punched him back but he hardly reacted as he threw punch after punch at him. Clara tried to break their throttling embrace up but both were too focused on trying to kill the other. Finally a training centre administer broke up the fight, dragging both of them away from each other.

'You'll have plenty of time to kill each other in the Games. Don't start before you've even started.'

Although none of his wounds particularly stung Clara made an effort of following after him and cleaning him up.

'That was the stupidest fight I've ever seen. Not because you weren't good at punching, but because you both were being childish.'

'He was obviously going to bug you until you gave up.'

'But that was none of your business.'

'You're welcome.'

She smiled slightly.

'You've still acted like a jerk. And gotten yourself into a state for nothing.'

'Ow!' He exclaimed.

'Stop moving, then!'

'I think you're making it worse, it was actually fine before you came and tampered with it!'

She said nothing but carried on treating him until he was finally allowed to get up.

'You are an idiot sometimes, aren't you? Clever, but stupid.'

'I guess you could say that for everybody.' He countered, scratching the back of his head.

'Will you be alright for the Gamemakers later?'

'Yeah I'm fine, Clara. I bet Danny is in worse shape.'

She couldn't help smirk a little. 'You've just made an enemy that will hunt you down as soon as the Games begins.'

'Me and Danny never got on back in our district anyway. He's always been arrogant and fierce. Obviously raised profoundly under influence of the Games.'

'Everything is an influence of the Games.'

'I think you're right. I've just lost the privilege of extra training time for that douche too, so my aim better be good once I go in there for the Gamemakers.'

'I'm sure you'll do fine, Bas. You always do. You underestimate yourself sometimes.'

'I do not.'

'You do.'

'Well, I guess it doesn't matter, does it? The Gamemakers could give any score.'

'You will get sponsers.'

'I don't really care about them.'

'Me neither. I just can't believe I've met someone that will be even more awkward at the Games presentation than I will.'

'That's true. Everyone was practically flaunting you back there.'

'And why does that bother you? If it wasn't for the fact I know you, you could have spared me some opponents. I could have made alliances.'

'What do you want me to say, sorry for stopping you? Clara the first thing they'd do in that pack is use you, trust me. I'm trying to keep you safe.'

'Why? No one's safe. No one is ever safe, Basil, not in the Games or out there in the districts. Maybe not even the Capitol.'

'Don't call me Basil.' He only replied, averting his eyes from her as he sat down.

'This isn't a game, is it? You know that as well as I do. This is life and death.'

'I know that.'

'I'm not saying I didn't appreciate it,' she said, and he could consciously feel her coming closer, 'in fact seeing Danny banged up was impressive. I just don't want you to get mixed up in things you don't have to. Things like me.'

Her fingers sifted lightly across the top of his hair. He always did this. He always made attachments too quickly, when it could never last. Clara's case was even worse. He knew she was going to die and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

'I think in this sad, lonely little world of ours we both deserve someone to help out.' He glanced over his shoulder at her.

She didn't reply but he knew he had made an impression on her.

'Meet me after the Gamemakers, yeah?'

'Of course.' He replied.

Soon enough he was called in, being the very first tribute.

'Good luck.' Clara granted, but he didn't feel as if his luck was in any way good or particularly in his favour. He felt pathetic walking in there, in front of a room of people who watched him expectantly.

'Basil Disco, District 1.' He announced. One of them quirked an eyebrow but he wasn't given any invitation to begin. He sighed, hoping he could get it over with as quick as possible. He grabbed a spear, stood at least fifteen metres and threw it to the heart of the dummy. It whistled past alarmingly but landed at it's neck. However this was received well amongst his watchers and he felt his confidence rise just a little. His hands were steady, as the next spear sailed through the left eye. He decided to show off a little bit, raising a gun, stepping back a further five feet and shooting directly to the heart this time, and the bullet shot through exactly where he wanted. He smirked in satisfaction and decided to play around a bit, taking a few shots while walking backwards and shooting at the target behind him without looking. He didn't see the result but he knew it had hit home. He grabbed both weapons in his hands, sizing up his chances before impulsively throwing his spear and firing a bullet at exactly the same spot on the dummy. He glanced upward to see a few people nodding and he concluded he liked his chances so far. After experimenting in numerous different ways he stopped, putting down the spear and gun, making awkward eye contact with the Gamemakers. He walked off, waiting and waiting until Clara came out. She didn't look as if she screwed it up but he observed she was a little tense.

'How'd it go?'

'I think it was alright.'

'What did you use?

'Gun.'

'That it?'

'Well, I tried the sword out too. I'm not sure that went well.'

'Ah, don't worry, I'm sure your score will be fine.'


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She hadn't been too sure about her presentation to the Gamemakers, and while Bas had encouraged her it would be okay she couldn't help but take it even more seriously. Clara was finally starting to realise the importance of the scores, the necessity of sponsors if she wanted to try live at all. Nerves wasn't the word she would have used, but it was something within that proximity she had felt when walking into the gymnasium once again. All the weapons, on display and for a moment she stood there pondering each station. She could try impress with various different knots and traps, or prove maybe that she was also a fighter, despite her undermining appearance and stature. Clara's hands had reached for the gun, shooting at the targets and not bothering to look back in fear of finding out she'd failed. She fired a few arrows too, after a small part of her training time spent with the bow and arrow, yet she decided then and there it wasn't really her choice of weapon. The swords had drawn her in from the beginning so she decided to beat up a dummy with it, pretending it was another tribute until the doll was in tatters. She knew she had overstayed her welcome long enough and excused herself politely. Even though she didn't feel too enthusiastic of her performance, finding Bas waiting for her on the other side made her smile.

They had walked the whole building, riding the elevator once more to the roof to sit by the flower beds. What they didn't realise was that they were both supposed to be with their fellow tributes and mentor back in their separate apartments but then they hadn't cared. A sound had interrupted their quiet talk and when they glanced behind them they saw Caesar Flickerman's plastic face beaming down at them from a small television screen inside the domed building. Apparently it was being broadcast everywhere, and they hurried up to it, realising it was the announcement of their scores. When Danny's face came up Bas made a snarky comment but she ignored him as she waited in suspense for her own. Apparently he had gotten a nine out of twelve, which had made Bas laugh. His own face popped up not too long after that, and she glanced up at his frowning face as his score appeared too.

'A ten. I wasn't aware I was that competent.'

'You were obviously well skilled, anyone could have seen that.'

'I didn't expect that score.'

'At least you'll be able to pull in some sponsors.' She reminded him. He didn't reply but Clara knew he wanted to say something back. She was glad he didn't.

The district five tributes ultimately made their appearance, all achieving a little less than their predecessors. Of course they were, she chided herself. Bas was part of the Careers district, and she'd put her expectations to a higher standard that was needed.

When she finally saw her face her body tensed for a second, although Bas' comforting hand rested on her shoulder.

Caesar read her name, and then her score. She blinked a couple of times, finally smiling when she saw a respectable eight. Which was, she was happy to say, higher than all her fellow district five tributes.

In her shock she jumped, landing in Bas' arms and hugging him before recognising what she was doing. He himself then tensed up, his limbs unreacting and face equally shocked.

She retreated, standing back and looking at him half apologetically. He wasn't looking at her directly and knew what she had just done was awkward for him and out of place.

'Sorry.' She said.

'It's...it's okay.' He dismissed, waving a hand away in gesture, 'it's a really good score. I knew you could do it.'

She smiled at him, and the truest and best thing that night wasn't the scores at all however, it was the smile he granted her in return.

'Well, hello. Where have you been?'

She didn't know how to answer but her escort didn't pursue the matter.

'We've been trying to look for you. You got a very good score!'

'Yeah, I...I know.'

'You've got good chances of sponsors. Well done.'

'Thank you.'

She walked past them, Bill smiling at her and she felt the tiniest bit self conscious of everyone else's stares. It was true District 5 wasn't the best for producing victors, but her score amongst others would be looked upon as a competitive composition. She excused herself, wondering about Bas, if he had been congratulated back into his apartment in the same way she had. Most likely it was Danny glaring at him in jealousy of a higher score. She hoped he wouldn't start some sort of bet or deep rivalry against him. She had come to like Bas a lot, despite their differences. Maybe he could even become her ally. Clara looked back, a trifle confused on what the Gamemakers really liked about her presentation. She had used a various range of weapons, yes, but she didn't think she had used them correctly. Whatever it was, she was glad she possessed that mysterious skill.

Clara also thought back to Haymitch, one of the very last to perform. He had gotten a surprisingly high score too, and wondered how on earth a 16 year old from District 12 had done it. In fact, it had been higher than all the Careers' scores too. She hoped he wouldn't get himself into fights with others for the same reason too. He didn't strike her as particularly in want of allies either, but she had noticed he had become closer with one of his own female tributes. Clara stared out the small window, watching the sky melt from a royal blue to inky black. She couldn't tell how many hours she had laid there, awake, but knew she probably was to go to sleep at some point. There would be a big day ahead of her, the last until she was let loose and prey to the torture of the Games. And yet her eyes couldn't close, her mind couldn't rest. Too often her thoughts drifted, from the Games, to Bas, to her home. She thought about her family, if they were asleep already or awake like she was, possibly thinking of where she was. Clara knew, Nina would have bitten her fingernails watching the scores, maybe smiling when she saw her picture on screen. Angie and Artie watching the TV intently before bed. Her father would have smiled but broken down in small tears, something actually quite common for him since her mother had died. She hoped Linda would have comforted him too. It had only been a few days but it felt more like a few years since she had said goodbye in the Justice Building. Since she was home, with the power plants and the small trees sometimes growing edible fruits. Even though the districts in some way were as imprisoning as the Capitol it had a sense of free living. It was the simple choices she had admired best, despite the peacekeepers. Some of them had been more or less harmless, anyway. She reflected on the Capitol's fashions, the extravagancy of every outfit or accessory. Her opening ceremony costume hadn't been too pleasing either. Even though there was hardly a choice in dress back home she decided it was better than being decked out in dresses wider than her bed and make up as thick as blood. For some reason the only incentive to finally falling asleep was seeing Bas again. Why he was invading her mind so much she had no idea, but for the moment she didn't bother fighting it.

'Clara.' Her escort announced, smiling from cheek to cheek. She smiled back awkwardly and took a seat at the table. Breakfast was laid out in rolls, jams and pastries she couldn't identify. Nevertheless she tucked in immediately, closing her eyes when a rich, smooth taste filled her mouth.

'What is in this?' She asked in amazement.

'It's pastry, wrapped in chocolate.'

'It's incredible.'

Although she tried hard not to compliment on the benefits of the Capitol, it was hard to suppress a comment on the divine food. Everything she tried out gave her extreme pleasure and calmed her a little for the day ahead. Clara became full too quickly and too soon, and settled for drinking tea. She noticed her escort was staring at her, maybe on the verge of saying something when their mentor cut in.

'The last day, then.' He said, 'You all have to make an impression, or you could be forgotten. And you don't want to do that. Today I'll each be talking to you about how you'll act in your interviews, and then you'll be handling the matter of your clothes for this evening.'

She nodded with the rest of them, but felt a little disappointed by the fact she couldn't see Bas. Clara also felt a little tentative toward interviews too. While back home she hadn't been afraid to speak her mind, she had no idea how she could answer to questions tonight. As it happened, she was the first her mentor was most eager to speak with, and Clara was starting to grow a little tired of their behaviour. Just because she had gotten a higher score than most tributes from poorer districts did not mean she had a chance of winning. Haymitch and Bas were probably the ones everyone was talking about at the moment, and for good reason too. She knew Haymitch had a certain secret dangerous side to him, she had seen it from the beginning, and she was immensely proud of him. Clara reminded herself she would give her congratulations to him that night.

'So, any idea on what kind of personality you want to portray?'

'Well, I was just thinking of being me.' She said defensively.

'Exactly the answer I like to hear. Some people kid themselves into thinking they can become someone different. There will be certain and particular questions for each tribute, so you have to be prepared to answer. The Capitol doesn't like a stutterer.'

'Okay.'

'And there is one rule to it, that we mentors all should mention. Don't be too honest. Don't say bad things toward the Capitol or the Games. I'm addition to being 'just you', you need to be confident.'

She nodded. Clara was sure that confidence would be the least of her problems.

'Let's try some scenarios and questions out, and see what we get.'

For the next hour they worked on answers to different questions, how she should act in situations and when and where she should smile and laugh. They even worked on waving to the audience. By the end of it Clara felt exasperated with the whole thing, and her mouth ached from smiling, and even talking too much.

The next hours of the day after lunch were focused on her wardrobe, which was something she wanted to be in control of as much as she could. Clara was repulsed by the idea of sporting such an ugly and mismatched dress as their fashions suggested.

'Now, Clara. Making an impression with your choice of clothing is just as important.'

Her escort showed her a vast array of dresses, but she was a little unsure about most of them as she went on.

'I think I just want something simple.' She admitted.

'Simple? But darling, with that figure you could look wonderful in a big dress.'

She shook her head violently. 'I don't think so.'

'Very well.' She replied, looking rather dismayed. 'Actually, there might be something...'

Behind a huge pile of what looked like unwanted dresses was a sleek blue dress, with minimal amount of glittery accessory and certainly her definition of simple.

'I like that.' She said instantly.

'Are you sure? You could really make a memorable impression in one of the dresses-'

'No,' Clara interrupted, 'that's one's perfect.'

She took the dress in hand, her eyes scanning the length of it. It really was simple, but a charming shade of blue she couldn't help like.

'Well, you're stylist will make you up like the beautiful woman you are. Go on, she's through there.'

Clara thanked her escort and entered the room opposite, where her stylist smiled expectantly at her.

'Good choice. Most tributes want something big and loud. This will look very flattering on you.'

'I don't want to look amazing. I just want to still look like myself.'

'I know what you mean. Come on.'

After a whole day of answering questions, staring at dresses until her eyes bled and getting ready Clara wanted nothing more than to collapse onto that inviting bed of hers. And yet she still had to get the actual interview over with.

She had been worried at first at how her stylist would make her up, powder her cheeks the colour of porcelain and give her long eyelashes with jewels glittering on them. However, when she looked in the mirror she was surprised that her face looked almost completely natural as it usually was, no exaggerations on her cheeks or lips or hair. Simple, like her dress. Her eyelids were sparkling and her lips a bright red but it wasn't too overdone. She was beyond pleased with the result and thanked her stylist hugely for not making her look like a fool.

'Some stylists do, some don't. You're just lucky you have me.'

Clara stared at the face looking back at her, someone almost foreign. Her hair was curled around the frame of her face and her nails were a matching shade of blue as her dress. In it, she felt as comfortable as she had hoped her dress would be. It wasn't heavy or ridiculous, it was sleek velvet that cut just above her ankles.

Finally, they were sent backstage, where all the tributes were lined up in order of district. She saw Haymitch first, giving him her congratulations as she had promised.

'Thanks. Are you nervous?' He asked. Clara glanced toward the open curtain to the stage, glimpsing a tiny portion of the crowd. She hadn't realised her stomach had been doing flips until then.

'A tiny bit. I'm more concerned that I won't fall in these high heels.'

Haymitch looked down at her feet and laughed. 'Yes, I imagine you should be.'

'I don't think I could think of anything more embarrassing.'

'Don't worry, I'll just have to catch you when you fall.' He said. She couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or sincere, but never found out anyway.

'I don't think you'll fall tonight.' A voice said behind her. She turned to see Bas, smiling just a fraction at her. She returned it, almost forgetting Haymitch was there. Bas had a way of making her abandon conversations with others.

'You look dashing.' She laughed.

He stared down at his plain black suit.

'Yeah well, the only way I allowed them to vary it was to have this weird ribbon here instead of a tie.'

'You suit it.'

His hair looked even fluffier than usual, his face properly clean shaven.

'You look beautiful.' He said in return.

She looked down at herself.

'Thank you.'

His eyes twinkled at her, and she stepped closer to him. They didn't speak, just studied each other for a while. Pauses like this in the middle of their conversations had grown to become quite common.

They were staring at each other for so long the crowd started cheering raucously as Ceasar Flickerman walked onstage with a giant grin. They turned to watch, their bubble bursting with sound from the stage.

'You'll be one of the first to go on.' She said.

'What? I can't hear you.'

She leaned up on tiptoe, so close to his skin it was hard to keep her balance.

'You'll be great.' She whispered. He smirked at her.

'I hope it doesn't last long. I'm not good with crowds.'

'I can tell.' She said, as they both moved further away from the line of tributes.

'I can never understand how all these people are so entertained by this.' She said, watching Caesar smile and make jokes with the audience.

'Wouldn't you be?'

'I don't know. It looks entertaining, I guess, but also very innocent. And we're not innocent.' She said, turning to him.

'They might as well have us all march straight into execution. At least it wouldn't be as painful.'

'Yeah. This is much worse.' She said, watching Danny Pink walk onstage.

'He looks ridiculous.' Bas commented.

'He looks fine.' She smiled.

'I hope he didn't pick that jacket.'

'He looks good in it.'

'He doesn't.'

'Stop being so jealous.' She sighed, enfolding her arm with his and leaning against his shoulder. It seemed to improve his manners.

'And although he was trying to pressure me into an alliance he isn't that bad. For now.'

'Yes, exactly, because a day from this moment he won't be all nice and charming. He'll be hunting us down.'

'Us?' She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Yeah?'

'I didn't know there would be an us.'

'Do you still expect to work alone?' He stared down at her. It was a rhetorical question but one that stuck in her mind. Of course she didn't. As she looked up into his face she finally realised that.

'Next tribute up!'

'That's you.' She grinned, pushing him forward. He glanced back at her with a grimace that made her smile, and when he walked onstage she watched from tentatively from the wings. His stride was confident, his face that mask of anger and recklessness. She felt that intense stare burn right into her soul, even though he wasn't looking at her. He sat down, waiting expectantly.

'Now, now, Basil Disco, you made quite an impression at the opening ceremony!' Caesar began, and Clara smirked at how much he would be resenting the use of his full name in that moment.

'It didn't feel like I was.'

'Well, you certainly did with the crowd, am I right, folks?' He beamed. Bas looked so uncomfortable at the whistles and cheers she felt bad for him.

'Tell me, you are from District 1, you've been working in factories all your life...have you ever desired to become a tribute of the Hunger Games like your fellow Careers pack?'

He paused before answering. Clara knew the first question had already angered him enough.

'No, no. I never wanted to be apart of this. All the adults thought they were safe this year, as they normally are, but this surprise came as a shock I didn't think I'd have to face. And I don't agree with the Careers tributes.'

'Oh, you don't agree? Why don't you agree, Basil?'

'Training from a young age for the Hunger Games...it's like watching pigs fattening themselves up for slaughter.'

Clara held her breath. He knows he shouldn't say something like that, but luckily Caesar played it on.

'Ah, but you're forgetting District 1 has a number of victors over the years.'

'Due to training. I've never had any training myself.'

'Well, it seems as if you had because you got one of the highest scores!'

He quipped back, thankfully changing the subject.

'Yes.'

'How did you feel about that? Was it a shock?'

'I was a little bit surprised, admittedly. I don't think I was expecting above a six.'

'Tell us, what do you think you did that impressed the Gamemakers so much?'

'I threw spears and shot guns from long distances.'

'Well, here it says you used 'extreme accuracy and precision while using the most of coordination and different direction.' He said, flashing a piece of paper to the audience.

'Are you confident you can win?'

'I don't know about winning, there are so many different tributes with better skills. I'm not counting on coming back alive.'

'Aren't you? Well, we have faith in you, don't we?' He announced to the audience again.

'So Basil, about your past, too. I've heard that you had a lover once, didn't you?'

Clara saw his whole body become rigid, fists clenching by his side.

'And that she was reaped for the Hunger Games.'

'Yes.' He confirmed solemnly.

'What was her name?'

Bas looked up, his face stone. 'Rose Tyler.' He said grudgingly. She couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was feeling just by saying her name.

'Rose Tyler,' he repeated, 'we remember Rose, too. One of our favourites as well!'

The crowd cheered. She could see that being a favourite of the Capitol wasn't pleasing him at all. Caesar was laughing along.

'One last question before you go. Can we see you smile?' He asked,

producing a huge grin of his own.

Clara knew they were testing him, especially after mentioning Rose.

'We've seen such a definitive, broody expression from you. I think we all want to know how you smile!'

It took a moment but finally his lips curled up into nothing more than a smirk, which the audience seemed to go crazy for either way. When he finally stood up, Caesar did the traditional exit of raising his hand and shouting his name out to the crowd. Bas was finally let go and he stalked off just as he had come on, his face lit up with rage and his eyebrows furrowing. As he walked down the line of tributes she tapped his shoulder to stop him but he brushed past her without saying a word. What they had just said about Rose had hurt him more than anything and she knew that he was in no mood to talk to anyone. She just hoped he would have calmed by the time her interview finished, so she could go find him.

Finally her name was called out, and she stepped out to be blinded by lights and overwhelmed by the audience. Caesar took her hand and led her to a seat. She only just noticed that his hair was a shade of dark green and his sparkling suit was a midnight blue that almost matched her dress. He seemed to spot it too.

'Ah, both in blue! All the best people are, my dear.' He laughed, half looking at her and half at the crowd.

'So, District 5 top scorer, how are you handling the Capitol right now?'

She took a deep breath before she lied.

'Well, it's wonderful. The people are so generous and the food...' She emphasised, 'is exquisite.' That part at least was true.

'That it is. So, tell us, what do you think of the tributes this year?'

'It's all the more varied, isn't it, which keeps it interesting. Being amongst such a huge number of people of all different ages is quite nice though, because there are adults that understand your situation as well as you do.'

'Ah, so you've made some friends already, then?'

'Just a few. Bas...uh, Basil, and Haymitch. Bill too, from my own district.'

'Basil? Wow, we thought he was unapproachable!'

'He almost is.' She laughed.

'And Haymitch, he surprised us all, didn't he?'

'Yes, I'm very proud of him. Such a young boy, too.'

'Mmm yes, but enough about everyone else, let's focus on you. You've received an eight from the Gamemakers, was that a good result for you?'

'Oh yes, I was very happy when I saw my score. I wasn't expecting so high at all.'

'You've surprised us, too. I'm sure there are sponsors lining up in favour of you! How do you feel about this Hunger Games?'

'It's unlikely I'll be the last one standing but I promised I'd try. I think it will be a very tough competition because everyone has so many different techniques.' She replied, honestly enough. Acting this out was somehow easier than she'd thought.

'Well, if you can't kill with a weapon, you'd easily charm a man to death with those looks!'

'Oh, uhm, thank you.'

'Do you have anyone at home, that may be watching?'

'Yes, I have my dad, and my friend Nina. And my two children.'

Everyone 'aww'ed at the mention of Angie and Artie, even Caesar looked compassionate for her. Just thinking about them then truly made her realise just how much she missed them.

'I'm sure they are as proud of you as we are.' He said, taking her hand once more and raising it just as he'd done with the other tributes.

'Clara Oswald!' He announced to the audience, and she managed to smile at them courteously in return before she walked away. She only noticed then that the mention of Angie and Artie had triggered a few tears spilling down her cheeks.


End file.
